


Special Orders

by opalmatrix



Category: Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, Gen, Growing Up, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Canon, Responsibility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 20:01:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6343246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/pseuds/opalmatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo's father understands that she would far rather accompany him to war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Special Orders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaDonnaErrante](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaDonnaErrante/gifts).



Jo picked a small log from the woodshed, held it out gingerly over the stump that she knew served as a chopping block, and swung the hatchet. The little log bucked so that she lost her hold on it, and a small chip flew off and landed a yard away.

Plainly, she did not have the knack.

She hefted the hatchet and frowned at the empty kindling box. Although she had set out to fill it up herself, the idea was not very satisfying. She wanted to chop up something more than wood. Confederate soldiers, perhaps? But Father and Marmee had been very careful to explain that most of them were just naive young men who were following their misguided elders.

It was really too bad that there were no actual dragons to slay. They were so satisfyingly wicked and dangerous. She would gladly face a dragon if it meant that Father would not leave them to go south.

She picked up the little log again and took another swing. The hatchet blade lodged in the log, but the wood didn't actually split. She tried again and this time missed the log entirely and had to drag the hatchet out of the chopping block. Red-faced, panting, and thoroughly vexed, she threw the hatchet at the woodshed. It spun as it went, striking the sturdy wooden wall with the back of the blade and bouncing off to land fearfully near her so that she jumped aside.

"Jo! What on earth are you doing?"

She whirled around, startled and ashamed that he had seen her throw the hatchet. "Oh, Father! I was trying to chop some kindling."

"Pick up the hatchet, please. It's a poor workman who takes out his temper on his tools. And dangerous too, of course. But I thought I had explained that Silas Miller would be providing the family with wood and kindling while I was away?"

More red-faced than ever, Jo fetched the hatchet and laid it on the chopping block. "But I want to be able to help, Father. What if Si comes down with the quinsy or injures himself so badly he can't work? I would be happier if I knew I could take care of our needs this way."

Father reached out and stroked a wayward lock of hair back from her hot face. "My son Jo! I think your fears are unfounded: Silas would have someone else care for my family if such a thing happened. But if I can't fan away your worries, at least I can make certain that you know how to chop kindling without losing a finger—or worse."

Father picked up a fresh little log and showed Jo how to grasp it firmly, swing the hatchet to lodge its blade effectively, and then swing the hatchet and log as one against the chopping block once or thrice as needed, splitting the log into kindling sticks. "If either of the sticks is too thick, why, then you just take it and split it again. Try your hand at it, Jo."

She had to swing the hatchet and log three times, but eventually it did split. The next little log went better, and soon she had quite a stack of kindling in the box.

"You're shaping at it well, my dear. Although you still have a fearsome frown as you chop, almost as though you have some foe there on the block."

Jo looked up at her father, embarrassed that she was so transparent. He gazed into her eyes and nodded. "So I thought. Just like the farm boys hereabouts, you would be happier to 'go for a soldier' rather than stay home."

"I know I can't," said Jo, sadly.

"It's hard to stay and keep the home fort safe. But I am happy that our home commander, your mother, has such a staunch soldier by her side. In fact, Private J. March, I have a special mission for you while I am away."

Jo straightened and lifted her head. "Yes sir, General March!"

"You are not the only soldier who may become down-hearted here at Fort March, so far from the front. The commander will have her hands full and may not be able to keep up the spirits of all the troop. I am charging you with using your intelligence and imagination and humor to find ways to keep your fellow soldiers happy and productive while I am away."

Can I do that? wondered Jo. But good soldiers don't back away from their duties. "Yes sir! I will do my best, sir!"

"I have every confidence in you, Private March." Father picked up the kindling box. "Now, stow your hatchet and let's head back to the fort. The quartermaster has a fine farewell dinner planned, and we must start off this tour of duty by eating well and speaking cheerfully."

Jo put the hatchet up and then boldly took the box from him. He let her have it and nodded. "Now, soldier: march!"

They strode off together.

_Illustration of Jo adapted from the original by Frank T. Merrill._


End file.
